


Nothung

by saraid



Series: Carmen in Green [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2490872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraid/pseuds/saraid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After more than two years of a loving relationship with his undead brother, Sam's beginning to crack around the edges.There's a water spirit on the Guadalupe, Dean in square-cut swim trunks, lotion with bronzer, floating on the river and an important decision made. And maybe it's a bit silly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothung

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Habanera, which can be found here. I have at least one more story planned, will come up with a series title then.
> 
> Beta: glasslogic - I just need to tell everyone that she did an amazing job. I rewrote this at least three times, twice after the actual posting date, made huge changes this afternoon, and she still got it done, with infinite patience and encouragement.
> 
> the wonderful art post, by evian fork, is here; http://evian-fork.livejournal.com/116732.html
> 
> In keeping with the operatic theme, the title Nothung is the name of the 'needful' or 'needy' sword in Die Walkure from Richard Wagner's Ring Cycle. It made me think of Dean as he is now.
> 
> *************************************************

"I found him!" Two male voices; one deep and rough, the other not-quite-as-deep and smooth, rang out in the still, dusty air. The other three library patrons all raised their heads and played a brisk round of "Shhhhh!" while two men emerged from the stacks and the microfiche readers, respectively, and collapsed into opposite chairs at a well-covered research table. 

"No, I really found him," the slightly shorter of the pair insisted. 

"We probably found the same guy." 

"But I found him first."

"Not necessarily."

"Why you gotta always use the big words, huh, Sammy? I know I'm just a dumb dead guy, you don't gotta rub it in."

"If you're dumb then I'm Jane Seymour."

"Oooo, Dr. Quinn. She was hot. That hair."

"Focus, Dean."

"But you're way hotter. And your hair is pretty girly too."

"Dean."

"What? Oh, right. Matching dead guy. If I was first then I get to pick the next hunt."

The taller one, Sammy, heaved a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. 

"I'm not going to Vegas. Once a decade, that's my limit."

"You're no fun." 

"That's not what you said last night."

The second man, Dean, actually looked slightly ill. His skin had a faint greenish tinge that suggested nausea. It was surprising to think of him getting up to the sort of activity their flirting suggested. And it was flirting. Even with the green he was almost ridiculously pretty. His boyfriend, or partner, or husband , whatever word the two used, seemed pretty happy with that.

"Normally I'd go with 'that's what she said', but I ain't gonna cheapen it."

"Oh my God, you're a redneck. You're a gay dead redneck and I never noticed."

"Yeah, no. That's too stupid even for me."

They were silent; one smirking and the other smiling back. Both were clearly happy. The moment stretched out until the taller one let the chair legs drop to the floor with a thump and offered his stack of papers to the other.

"If you didn't find him first I get to choose."

"Alright, don't get your panties in a twist." He started reading over the papers while Sam took his printouts to study. Sam glanced up and grinned again.

"You're the one that wears panties."

"I thought we were done."

"Had to get that one in."

"This is me, being responsible. And not responding to your scurrilous accusation."

"....letting that one go."

There was another pause and then they both spoke again, much more quietly.

"Dean, I think we found the same guy, but -"

"Houston, we have a problem."

Dean got up from his seat and rounded the table to sit beside Sam. They laid papers side by side and compared.

"George Patricks."

"Roger Patricks."

"Twins?"

"Identical."

"Well that's just cheating."

"Okay, let's go over this. George and Roger Patricks, born June 1943. Died December 24, 1961. 19 years old, that's sad."

He leaned into Sam, and Sam slid an arm around his shoulders. 

"Cause of death is listed as 'accidental shooting', but I'm thinking that may have just been a kindness by the coroner."

"Why would you say that?" Dean leaned in closer. Sam noticed, as he still did occasionally, the lack of a heartbeat under Dean's layers of shirts. He never used to wear layers the way Sam did, not when he was alive. 

"Here, look - the local gossip page wrote about it."

The loss of the Patrick boys is a hard blow for our community,  
especially in this time of war, but that loss is mitigated by their  
admitted 'moral defect' that prevented them from serving their  
country with honor as so many of our young men are. We should  
be thankful that their dear departed parents weren't around to  
witness any of this. A sad end for two very sad young men.

Dean slammed a hand down on the paper. "What a bitch!" He turned to look at Sam. "What does that mean, 'moral defect'?"

Sam tightened his arm around Dean, almost pulling him from his chair. He pressed a kiss to Dean's temple and held it there. Understanding that his brother needed this, for some reason, Dean held still, body softening in Sam's half-embrace.

After a minute, during which no-one seemed to notice or care that there were two men embracing in the middle of the library in small-town Kentucky, after that long minute Sam eased back into his own seat. He gave Dean room to move away, but his brother stayed close. He knew what Sam wanted and what was best for him - from bedtime stories to bicycle lessons to thirty minute blowjobs in a Ruby-free world - he'd always known. He'd just needed Sam to admit it. Finally, Sam cleared his throat.

"It's what they said if you were gay. The military, they wouldn't take you if you were gay, they called it a moral defect. You couldn't even be drafted."

"Vietnam," Dean nodded, his head still resting on Sam's shoulder. "I thought about it, sometimes. If Dad would have started hunting the way he did if he hadn't gone over there. It changed a lot of people and usually not in a good way."

"Really? I've thought about it too. We should talk about it sometime."

"I can't get drunk anymore, so, no."

Deciding that was a battle best saved for another day, Sam continued the history lesson. Dean didn't have the schooling he did but he knew his brother was a minor history buff - if the history was sufficiently gruesome.

"There was actually a kind of movement, guys trying to avoid the draft or trying to get out would say they were gay. Better to be labeled defective than to die, I guess. So many of them did it that the military started to crack down. You couldn't just say you were gay, there had to be proof. You had to get someone to 'be gay' with you, that made it harder."

"I wonder what kind of proof they needed. Bet nobody was making out in the recruiter's office."

"So then guys who wanted to serve but actually were gay, a lot of them actually got in."

Dean picked up a printed page, studying the young man, really a teenager, in the black-and-white picture. He was slight and blond and his eyes were dark. There was nothing about him that screamed 'homosexual'.

"So how did they know? Him and his brother."

"His identical twin brother," Sam added. "It's not a big town now, it was even smaller then." 

He frowned at Dean's quizzical look. "What? I read the census reports. There might've been a clue."

With a huff Dean gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Of course you did."

"No such thing as too much information," he said, and that was something else he and dad had never agreed on. Enough information to get the job done was never enough information as far as Sam was concerned. Dean chose not to respond. He felt there should be a comfortable medium. They were still looking for it.

"Sooo... what did you get from your information mining?"

Sam relaxed back into his chair again. He took the paper Dean held and laid it beside the picture he'd found and they just looked for a second. George and Roger looked back. They didn't look happy, the twin teenagers with matching eyes and sad smiles. 

"There were twelve kids in their family. Three sets of twins. They were numbers nine and ten, of ten boys."

"I feel sorry for their mom just thinking about it."

"It was a religious family - there are newspaper articles on the church elders and stuff and their father, Charles Patricks, was always mentioned. And their mom died when they were little, just a week after she had their second sister. She died less than a year later."

"Uh-huh," Dean encouraged him to go on. He could tell that this story had gotten to Sam, that he identified with these guys. Even if their stories weren't that similar, he'd developed an attachment to them. Probably because their life had obviously been hard too.

"So they grew up with a father that was probably strict, in a houseful of kids, with no mother. They were drafted when they turned 19 and all the other boys in the family were already gone. Pretty much all of the young guys in town were gone by then. They were the last ones."

"And the army didn't want them."

"So it must have been obvious, right? Or the military would have taken them. It must have been obvious enough that the whole town knew."

"Yeah..." Dean wasn't sure what Sam was getting at.

The papers skittered across the scarred wooden tabletop as Sam pushed them away.

"So who were they being gay with?"

Dean stiffened, and drew back enough to meet Sam's eyes. 

"Huh. I didn't think about that."

"The odds of there being two other gay guys their age in the same town and them all being involved?"

"I see it."

"I'm just sayin'."

"But you're usually right about this sort of thing."

"I don't have your people sense, but yeah, I think I'm right."

"God, how much did that suck."

"Yeah."

They sat, silent again. It was getting late. The library closed at 8, that would give them enough time to grab some food and start looking for the grave. They might even be able to get it dug up and burned tonight, if they found it in time. There wasn't a terrible rush; this ghost had killed every Sunday for the past five weeks, and today was Wednesday. They'd only gotten to town that morning. This could be one of their faster cases.

"So one of them is haunting the land where the church used to be?"

"Looks like."

"Why? Why now?"

Sam shrugged. He felt tense, stretched too tight. 

"I don't know."

"It doesn't matter. We'll figure out which one it is and take care of it."

"How?" Sam nudged him with a shoulder. "We've got literally identical suspects, how do we choose?"

He didn't look up when Dean got up from his chair and stood behind him, but he did tip his head forward when Dean's strong hands settled on his shoulders and began to rub. 

"Not a problem," Dean said softly. "They're probably buried close to each other - we'll just do 'em both."

Yeah, that was a solid plan.

* * * * * * * 

"Fail."

Dean flopped onto the empty hotel bed, the one closest to the bathroom.

"I should totally post this on fuck my life," Sam moaned, practically crawling from the door to the same bed. He lay out beside Dean and closed his eyes.

"Nobody'd believe it."

"Hence the added fuckitude."

"So there's a blog for that?" Dean managed, with a great groan and several inelegant kicks, to turn himself over, like a particularly tired turtle. With the pillow within reach he plopped his head down face-first.

After a few minutes of that Sam nudged him. 

"You're gonna suffocate." 

Dean's answering mumble was swallowed by the pillow.

"Yeah, yeah, don't need to breath, rub it in."

A single green eye opened just enough to study him.

"I'd rather rub off, on you."

Sam grimaced. He felt the dirt caked on his face crack and that made him do it again.

"Gross, not until you shower."

"Dude, I'm dead, how much more gross can I get?"

It was clearly a rhetorical question, Sam didn't bother with an answer. With a deep groan - because Dean might not get sore muscles, but sure as hell did - he rolled himself to his feet, then turned to grab Dean's leg, slowly pulling him off as well.

"Fuck, no, I'm not getting up."

"Shower. Then I need to eat."

"You shower." Dean clung to his pillow, not resisting, but making himself loose and heavy.

"I'm going to. With you. C'mon, I'll wash your hair."

Dean shook his head and caught at the side of the bed, slowing his movement further.

"Dammit, get in the shower, Dean, or I swear there will be no sex for a week."

He shook his head stubbornly.

"Two weeks. And you know I can do it."

"Freak." Dean relented and got up. "That's just not natural."

"We're not the people to be talking about natural."

Dean paused to shake himself out a bit, then slung an arm around Sam's waist. 

"And whatever. Ghost is gone, we're alright and I get to pick the next gig." 

"What, wait - no! You didn't have the right guy, I did!"

Giving him a shove, Dean ducked into the bathroom.

"Prove it!"

Sam stammered in a breath and then a pair of filthy jeans came through the doorway and hit him in the face.

* * * * * * * 

"Aw, I hate Texas in the summer," Dean whined. 

"Tough. It's our kind of thing and we're going."

"Isn't there a job in Florida? There are beaches in Florida. And barely-legal women in bikinis!"

"Texas!" Sam shouted, turning on Dean. He had a duffel of dirty clothes and a bad attitude. "That was the deal! I let you top and I choose the next job. Why d'you always try to fuckin' renege?!"

Dean sat up, looking a little confused. "I wasn't really. You know that. I just like to bitch."

"Well maybe I'm tired of it." Dropping the duffel to the floor, he crossed his arms over his chest and glared. "It wouldn't kill you to stop."

His words hung in the air. Dean just looked at him, then he very deliberately raised his right hand and ran his fingers under his jaw, right where his pulse should be.

"No," he whispered. “I guess it wouldn't."

Sam just stared. 

"Blink, dude."

"I can't believe I said that."

"Guess you really can get used to anything."

Sinking to the bed Sam put his face in his hands. He didn't say anything.

"Sam. Sammy." Dean sat up when he didn't respond, sat up and moved to the floor in front of him, kneeling there. "Sammy?"

"I just need a minute."

"Sam - What're you thinking?" Worried, Dean tried to pull Sam's hands from his face. "Whatever it is, I promise it's okay. I always said, only as long as we can do this. Only as long as you can. If -" he swallowed and took a deep breath, "- if it's too much, I'll understand. I'll always love you, wherever I am."

"No!" Sam shouted, shoving Dean back, falling on top of him, hands fisting around his wrists. "What the fuck, Dean?! You want to die? You want to leave me?"

"No, of course not! Why d'ya think I put up with all of this? Because I wanna be dead?! I just don't want to outstay my welcome!"

"JESUS!" Sam threw himself to the side and lay, panting heavily. Dean lay still, almost afraid to move. He thought he might be - no, he wasn't, wasn't shaking, but if he were alive he probably would have been.

At last he ventured a whispered question. 

"Sam? What the hell just happened?"

"I don't know," Sam whispered back.

The hotel, one of the big chains, was clean and comfortable and safe. Close to the freeway, cars and big rigs passing at all hours, busy now at twilight, the two of them sleeping late after a hard night and a rowdy morning.

"I could blame it on low blood sugar," Sam muttered at last. "I'm starving."

"I'm on board with that plan."

Sam rolled to his side, facing Dean. "But I'm not."

He studied Dean's face. Much loved, well worn, slightly green. At least his skin matched his eyes.

"I've been thinking. About your skin color. I think we can do something about it."

Dean propped himself up on an elbow and gave Sam a hopeful smile.

"Really? Because I know green brings out my eyes, but it'd be nice to change it up once in a while."

"Really," Sam grinned. He touched Dean's cheek, fingertips light on the permanent stubble. "And you're gonna hate it." 

Dean sucked in an unneeded breath. "Will it make you happy?" Sam knew that all Dean had ever wanted was for Sam to be happy.

"You make me happy," Sam said, leaning close, his mouth brushing Dean's. 

"Yeah?" Dean tilted his head, breathed that stolen breath back, over Sam's lips.

"Yeah." Sam closed the distance and they kissed. It was soft and sweet, almost innocent. There was just a hint of the passion that usually consumed them. "Yeah."

* * * * * * *

Sam roused from a drifting sleep. The rumble of the Impala and his brother's subdural singing were like the perfect lullaby, the song of his childhood. It could be any year since 1984 (?): dad would be driving and Dean humming along to the radio, feet kicked up on the dashboard, hand playing in the wind outside the window.

"Hey," Dean looked over at him as Sam cracked his eyes. He shifted, stretched, yawned. 

"Hey." He smiled back. They hadn't talked, not about anything important, since that weird fight two nights ago. They hadn't had sex, or done more than some gentle kissing and cuddling. "Are we there yet?"

"Almost." Dean reached over to swat the back of his head - gently. "You rested?"

Half-rising in the seat as he tried to straighten his legs, Sam grunted a 'yes'. 

"I'll be better when I can get out and walk around."

"We really are almost there. Since we don't know how long we'll be here I thought we'd get a room at one of the tourist traps and then you can try your new trick after we do the ritual."

"Sounds good. Then, do you maybe want to eat tonight?"

Dean shrugged. "Nah, I'm good."

 

Many hotel rooms didn't have enough floor space for the ritual. This time they had to flip a bed on its side and lean it against the wall to make room. Everything went as normal and afterwards Dean got up and went to shower while Sam cleaned up. 

Just a week before Sam would have gone to join him, but tonight he didn't feel like it. He felt tense, edgy. Out-of-sorts. He sat at the small round table, in a comfortable chair, and opened his laptop, pulling up the file Bobby had sent them a couple weeks ago. They'd hesitated to take the job, not entirely trusting Bobby, not after the 'intervention' attempt a year ago. People weren't being killed, but something was happening and it would probably escalate. Dean came out of the shower wearing boxer briefs and a tee, both black. He looked pretty green.

He turned and gestured at his brother. Newly renewed, Dean was at his strongest and best. 

"Come on, take those off."

"Not that I mind, Sammy, but I was sort of under the impression that you're still mad at me?" He obediently peeled off the shirt and underwear.

"Why would I be mad at you?" Sam asked, honestly surprised. Yeah, he wasn't feeling right, but it wasn't Dean's fault. "No, I mean, yeah, I was upset, when you offered to die to make things easier on me, but your lack of self esteem isn't your fault."

"Hey, I esteem my self plenty," Dean protested weakly, standing naked in front of Sam as directed. 

Sam snorted, and rolled his eyes for added effect.

"We're not talking about it," Dean grumbled.

Straightening from where he was digging in his duffel, Sam came over and kissed Dean's forehead. Then, before Dean could comment, he leaned to kiss his mouth. That was something they hadn't stopped doing, kissing, and it was still good, still amazing, hot and sweet every time.

Dean followed him when he tried to pull away, soft lips clinging to his, and Sam had to put a hand on Dean's shoulder to break the kiss.

"Hmph," Dean grumbled. 

"Hey, if this works you'll look almost normal."

"But I'm never going to be normal, Sam. I think that's starting to bug you."

"Not as much as being without you would." Stepping back, Sam opened the bottle of skin lotion and poured some in his hand. "I always thought that an artificial tan would be too much, too obvious - and you'd look terrible, which you would hate - so I never suggested it," he spoke while he began rubbing the lotion on his brother's smooth, muscular chest. Dean made a pleased humming noise. "But this, lotion with bronzer -" he paused for Dean's muttered comment about what-the-fuck was bronzer, although he was certain Dean was just defending his machismo. No-one that used that much hair product didn't know what bronzer was. "This lotion will give you a hint of color. I'm hoping it'll be enough to combat the green."

"The green's not too bad?" Dean offered.

Sam dropped a kiss to the bicep he was massaging. "The green is you."

Dean didn't look reassured by that, but he kept quiet.

The hotel was nice. Cute, in a rustic way. Their room was decorated with plain beige walls and carpets, the bedspreads had colorful images of songbirds and there were a couple of pictures as well as a clock featuring a life sized painted Blue Jay.

"Is the bathroom birds, too?" A theme was usually carried through.

"The shower curtain matches the bedspreads."

"Ouch," Sam said, kneeling to work on Dean's legs. "At least the birds aren't too bad."

"You never were a Hitchcock fan."

"Eh. Didn't do anything for me. Lift up." He started on a foot. 

"There's always Hitch-A-Cock," Dean leered down at him. "The porn versions."

"I don't even wanna know." Sam tapped Dean's ankle, went to work on the other foot. "You made that up, didn't you."

You'll never know."

Sam stroked and rubbed and Dean relaxed until he was practically liquid, though he remained standing. When Sam stood back for the last time, walking around him in a slow circle, to see if he’d missed anything, Dean rolled his head back and stretched his shoulders. “Good?”

“I think it works,” Sam said thoughtfully. “Go in the bathroom and look.”

There wasn’t a full-length mirror, of course, but Dean could get a pretty good idea of what he looked like. The bronzer did offset the green, just a little bit – but it was a big little bit, enough to, as Sam had suggested, take the edge off. He didn’t look green anymore. Now he looked faintly tanned. He looked down and grinned.

“Dude, my dick?”

“I never really liked have a green dick in my mouth.”

“But you won’t mind the flavor of the lotion?”

“Let’s find out.” Sam took his hand and led him back to the beds.

 

Stretching and settling into the bed, Sam rolled to his side, away from Dean. Who promptly followed him and spooned up behind him. Resting his head on Dean’s bicep, Sam closed his eyes and sighed, pleased and sated. Dean played his fingers over Sam’s chest idly, finally circling his anti-possession tattoo and then flattening over it.

They were warm and safe and as close to happy as they’d ever been. He heard Dean take a deep breath behind him, felt his chest moving.

“Want me to order you some dinner?” Dean’s whisper tickled his neck.

He shook his head.

“You gotta be hungry.” Dean started to move away but Sam caught his hand and pulled him closer.

“Later.”

Without saying anything else Dean eased back into position and was still.

Sam didn’t really like it, the stillness. Dean had never been hyper, exactly, but he had been active; even when he was still. Usually a finger tapping on the steering wheel or stroking a beer bottle, his body had depth and presence. Now, without the heartbeat and the breathing, he seemed – not smaller, but – more compact? He didn’t seem to take up quite as much room.

Maybe now that he had Sam and Sam’s commitment to him was so obvious even Dean believed it, maybe he didn’t need to take over a room anymore.

“I think –“ Sam started, then paused, licked his lips. Tried to get his thoughts in order. “Maybe we should look for a cure.”

“We did that,” Dean said, the words muffled by Sam’s neck, where Dean had his face pressed to warm skin and soft hair.

“Look again. We really – we really stopped looking when we found the ritual. But that’s maintenance, it’s not a cure.”

“Being dead isn’t like being sick, Sam. I don’t think there’s a cure.”

 

“There might be. Something.”

“Okay,” Dean pulled back, half-sat to look down at Sam. “Where would we look? We don’t have the resources someone like Bobby does.”

“I don’t know.” Sam tugged him back down and closed his eyes. “Let’s nap a bit, okay?”

“Alright, Sammy.” Dean lay down again, pulling the covers up around both of them. They were still naked, Sam a little sweaty from their activities, and the AC had the room cool enough. Sam drifted in the warmth of the bed, the safety of Dean’s embrace.

“I love you.” He heard Dean whisper, just before sleep took him.

* * * * * * *

“You want to what?”

“Float the river.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Dean shook his head at Sam, a small smile on his lips. 

Sam took another bite of his strawberry pancakes, which he’d layered with turkey sausage and covered with syrup.

“It’s a thing. Traditional vacation activity. You get a couple of intertubes, catch a ride upriver, climb on and float back down.” (http://www.riversportstubes.com/)

“That sounds boring as fuck.” Dean had a cup of coffee. Caffeine didn’t affect him anymore, but he still enjoyed the flavor. He’d take a few sips and then he’d smell and taste like coffee for the rest of the day.

“The spot where people are disappearing is about two miles from here, and all of the victims were either floating it or hiking when they vanished.”

“But they came back.” Dean took a sip, rolled it around his mouth, swallowed. Coffee was one of the things he could just keep until it evaporated, the smell didn’t go bad as long as he didn’t put milk in it. Sugar was okay.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam nodded, still eating. He hadn’t gotten any dinner the night before, they’d slept through to morning – then Dean had slept longer while Sam did some research on the computer. “Some were gone a few hours, one was gone two days. But they all came back, and couldn’t remember where they’d been.”

“They didn’t have any injuries or evidence of what happened?”

“The police thought it was a hoax, except that none of these people knew each other and they’re from all over – Even a guy from England. He was visiting family, his sister married an American soldier and they’re stationed in San Antonio now.”

“How many people?”

“Eight, over the past month. Bobby thought it was a siren, but it can’t be, not if it’s letting them go.”

“No-one else is missing?”

“Not that anyone knows of.”

Dean rolled his mostly empty cup between his hands. “And you want to float down a river?”

“Tube down the Guadalupe.”

“How long will it take?”

Sam shrugged, looked mildly embarrassed. “If we do the long float it’ll be four or five hours. More, depending on if we stop to investigate a lot.”

“Awww,” Dean whined. “All day, Sam? Floating on a river?”

“Come one, it’ll be fun. I sortof –“ he stopped and shoved more food in his mouth.

“What?’ Dean held up a hand and waved at their waitress for more coffee. She was in her twenties, heavy, but cute, with bobbed red hair and big brown eyes. All of the table staff seemed to be college students; young, good looking, well put together. This was the kind of place Dean might have washed dishes in, once upon a time.

“It was something Jess and I talked about doing,” Sam sighed. He sat back, pushing his plate away. Dean eyed it briefly and Sam could see him remember the ‘turkey sausage’ of it all. “She did it a few times when she was a kid, her family used to vacation down here.”

Dean was clearly considering it. Really, Sam knew that if he asked Dean would do almost anything. Maybe actually anything. Probably.

“That’s one of the reasons I wanted to try the bronzer – now you can go out in daylight without wearing a million layers.” He ducked his head and grinned, looking at Dean through his bangs. “I’d like to see you in a swimsuit.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You see me naked all the time, what’s the big deal about a swimsuit? I’m not as, y’know, cut as you are.” For a man that had traded on his physical attractiveness more times than Sam could count, he wasn’t that confident about it, not really. He had the easy everyday ‘yeah, I’m hot’ thing going on, but he didn’t really believe it, deep down. Or maybe he thought that was all he had.

“Shut up, you’re gorgeous.”

“Sam,” he whined. Sam had never seen his brother blush, but he thought it could happen now, if Dean had any blood in his body.

“You’ll do it?” Sam waved off the offer of a take-out box for his small pile of leftovers and asked for their check.

“You know I will,” Dean got up, opening his wallet. He put down enough to cover the check and a nice tip, giving the young woman a smile as they went out. Hr answering grin made Sam think that the bronzer was working perfectly.

“I guess we’re going shopping, because I sure as shit don’t own a swimsuit,” Dean said as he started the car.

“We can make a day of it,” Sam said. He grinned at Dean, letting his brother know how happy this made him, and Dean just snorted and pulled out of the parking lot.

They did shop, there were several large tourist-type stores up the road a bit, and a lot to choose from. They spent too much, but Sam was feeling like this was a vacation – something they’d never really done together – and so he encouraged Dean, who could be frugal about the strangest things. 

“It’s just money. Let’s get something we like,” he kept saying. “We deserve it, we work hard and no-one pays us to do it.”

First they got swimsuits – Sam refused to get a speedo, no matter how much Dean begged, but he did talk Dean into a grey square-cut trunk (http://www.freshpair.com/2xist-Cabo-Knit-No-Show-Swim-Square-Cut-Trunk-36070005.html) that looked amazing. He settled for a plain pair of blue trunks for himself. (http://www.freshpair.com/Parke-ronen-Catalonia-Solid-Taffeta-Swim-Boardshort-PR1127T.html)

They both got a couple of new tees in plain colors. They snickered and laughed while choosing beach towels; Sam got two with art prints (http://www.complex.com/art-design/2012/04/10-awesome-art-beach-towels#3, http://www.artproductionfund.org/shop/karen-kilimnik-towel), while Dean got two ‘Corona’ ones. (http://store.corona.com/index.php?p=product&id=468&parent=76&leftItem=item4&PageHead=Find%20Your%20Beach, http://www.amazon.com/gp/customer-media/product-gallery/B003UAS1GM/ref=cm_ciu_pdp_images_0?ie=UTF8&index=0&isremote=0) to celebrate his continuing love of beer.

"We'll have good towels for a while," Sam pointed out. "We don't have to ruin them after hunts, just save them for other times."

"You know I don't like to stuff Baby too full."

"It's just a few towels." Sam rolled his eyes. "Not like I'm trying to talk you into a bookcase and a clothes rod."

"Not some douchebag salesman, Sam." Dean commented, but he didn't say anything else while Sam got sunblock, some wrapped sandwiches, a couple of peaches, and Doritos.

"Man, you know I love those."

"Don't have time for you to eat today - sorry. When the case is done?"

"Eh, maybe."

It was strange, Dean not wanting to eat - he usually looked forward to it. Sam decided to worry about it later. 

"I think we've got everything. Ready to go?"

"If I must." Dean's hangdog expression made Sam smirk.

 

Sam had already signed them out for a float online. He was able to request a ride, two tubes, and a waterproof ice chest that could be tied to a tube and float alongside. All of their supplies could go in it; phones, towels and food, with a solid ice pack that wouldn't melt. 

They rode in the back of a pickup with half a dozen others, they looked to be college students. One pretty blond girl reminded him of Jess and he felt a pang of sadness. That was the life he'd wanted, the life he'd thought he'd have. It was about as far from the life he had now as it was possible to get.

The ride was bumpy; Dean cuddled close to Sam’s side, uncaring of an audience, as always. When he lurched Sam wrapped an arm around his waist and Dean leaned closer.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Dean muttered.

“It’s going to be fun,” Sam corrected. “You and me, the river, some food. An afternoon of peace and quiet.”

“Not if it works,” Dean snorted.

“Okay, look – try to have fun, please? For me?” Sam turned the puppy dog eyes on. Dean caved without protest.

“Okay, okay – you don’t have to work so hard for it. But if I get bored –“

“I’ll entertain you,” Sam promised, dropping a kiss to Dean’s forehead.

“You guys are so cute,” one of the girls commented. A couple of the guys were rolling their eyes.

Dean bristled. “I am not cute.”

“Yes you are,” Sam snickered. “Hey, where are you guys from?”

“Texas A&M.”

“That’s a good school.”

“Sammy went to Stanford,” Dean said proudly.

“Wow, cool.” The blond spoke up. “What’s your major?”

“Pre-law. But I’m taking some time off before law school. We’re road tripping – trying to see as much of the country as we can in a year.”

“I would kill to do something like that,” one of the guys – big, burly, probably a linebacker, spoke up.

“Your parents let you?” Dean rolled his eyes at that. They were clearly older than these kids, not young twenty-somethings that depended on their parents.

“We’re on our own,” Sam said. “Our parents died when we were younger. That’s –“ he looked down at Dean, but his brother didn’t look upset by the story Sam was spinning “- that’s kinds how we met. Grief counseling and stuff.” He smiled at the group. “Not very romantic, I know.”

“But we’re guys, so it’s okay,” Dean added. His arm, around Sam’s waist, tightened. Talking about Dad would always sadden him.

“Exactly.” Sam grinned, the big white grin complete with dimples, and several of the girls practically melted.

The truck hit a particularly deep rut and Dean pitched hard into Sam, who pulled Dean in front of him, arms around his waist tightly. Dean leaned back into him, letting Sam take his weight, comfortable with it. Sam snugged his chin on Dean’s shoulder, closing his eyes briefly.

“So cute,” the brunette said again.

They swayed together, Sam’s legs braced wide. Dean backside was pressed to his groin and it felt fantastic.

“Just wait until we get back tonight,” he whispered into Dean’s ear. His shameless brother just rubbed against him. “Oh, you’re asking for it.” 

Dean’s grin was pretty naughty. The girls were watching them and he was playing to it, enjoying the attention. Sam let him, glad he was having fun.

The truck shook itself to a stop and they all piled out. Sam and Dean were given the largest intertubes, with a couple of cracks about hoping they wouldn’t sink them, and then they were trekking down to the river’s edge. A broad section of smooth, flat rock extended into the shallows, making an easy entry point to the swift-running water beyond.

They hung back a little, Sam repacking the ice chest, with their towels and spare shirts and food all stored in large zip-type bags. sodas, juice, and beer were packed tight around the refreezable ice black. He added the mixed bouquet of flowers and the box of tiny iced cakes they had bought that morning and it seemed like they were ready to go.

“All packed?” Dean smirked at his anal-retentive ways.

“One last thing.” Sam pulled out two pairs of sunglasses. “Gotta look cool, right?”

“Too true.” Dean accepted his and put them on. “Let’s go.”

They waded over the rocks to where the water got deeper and faster. Sam held onto Dean’s tube while he climbed in, and then promptly turned his own over, to Dean’s boisterous laughter. 

“Shut up!” Sam yelled, laughing as well.

“Graceful, Sam, very graceful. I’m glad you weren’t a girl!”

Sam scoffed. “You’d still love me.”

“Well, duh.”

Finally settled, each with a foot on the rocks to hold them in place, Sam got the ice chest situated. Trailing behind him on a two-foot rope, and they let go simultaneously. Dean started spinning in slow circles and waved his arms in the air, hollering into the air.

“Shut up, you freak!” Sam was laughing at him. “God, I can’t take you anywhere!”

“You wanted me to have fun!”

Sam didn’t answer, just admired his brother; splayed out over the black innertube, feet kicking in the water, wearing the cheap sneakers they’d bought just for the trip. Dean had nixed the idea of river shoes, pronouncing them ‘goofy’.

The bronzer had changed Dean’s skin tone just enough and now he shined with a slight sweat, his chest well-defined and attractive. Paddling, Sam got close enough to grab his ankle and they floated that way for a while, Sam following Dean, both of them relaxing into the rhythm of the water.

After a while, maybe thirty minutes, Dean spoke.

“So how far is this place?”

“A couple of hours, maybe?” Sam answered. “Hey, you want a beer? I do.”

“Hell yeah, it’s freakin’ hot out here.”

Although the alcohol didn’t affect him anymore, Dean still liked the taste of it and indulged occasionally. It was easier to get liquid out of his system than food; it just required a small hole and some water to wash it out, maybe a little pressure.  
“I only brought a six-pack,” Sam said. “After that it’s soda or water.”

They floated, drinking. Soon they heard a louder water noise. Both craned their necks to see what was coming.

“A waterfall,” Dean grinned. “Cool.”

It was only a five foot drop but they shouted happily going down and Dean twirled dangerously, almost tipping over. His ankle was pulled from Sam’s grasp and he grabbed it again when they reached the quieter water at the bottom. Dean shook his head, holding onto his shades, grinning widely. 

“Okay, this doesn’t suck.”

They were quiet for a while longer. Sam ate a couple of sandwiches and two apples. Dean ignored that in favor of another beer. When he spoke again, his voice quiet and serious, Sam was almost startled. It was so peaceful; drifting through deeper pools, around boulders dropped in the middle of the river, overhanging trees offering patches of dappled shade. They didn’t see any other people, the kids they’d ridden up with had gone far ahead. They could hear sporadic shouts in the hot, still air. The heat wasn’t too bad. Dean splashed himself frequently, and Sam infrequently.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” he asked.

“Talk about what?” Sam asked, suddenly nervous. 

“Me. Being dead.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m not giving you up, Dean. That’s not even an option.”

“So what are we going to do. I think we knew from the start that this couldn’t last forever.”

“It’ll last as long as we want it to.”

“As long as you want it to.”

Squirming to sit up further, Sam tugged on Dean’s ankle, bring him closer in the flowing current. He reached with his free hand and got Dean’s shoulder.

“No, that’s not what I meant. We’re in this together, right? This is what you want?’

Dean tipped his head back and looked up, the shadows passing over his face. 

“It’s starting to feel weird,” he admitted.

“Weird how?” Sam asked, worried.

“Weird like it’s wrong.” Dean looked at him and gave a half-shrug. “Sometimes a thought pops up in my head. I don’t know where they come from, but it’s like they’re telling me enough is enough. That I’ve lived my time, several times over, and it’s time to let nature take its course.”

Urgently Sam asked “Do you feel that way? Do you think someone or something is putting those thoughts in your head?” he wondered if Bobby could do it. If Bobby would do it. A spell, somehow influencing Dean’s feelings. They’d been through so much, he couldn’t believe that the man they thought of as a father would do that. Not after everything.

“They’re my thoughts, Sam.” Dean gave him half an eye roll. “I can tell. They feel like mine.”

They were quiet a bit longer. Then they hit a patch of shallow rapids over scattered rocks. It got shallow enough that Sam bottomed out, stuck on his ass, and Dean laughed loudly as he struggled to get free without standing up.

“All those salads didn’t help a bit!” Dean shouted. “I knew you were stealing my twinkies!”

“You’re a twinky!” Sam retorted, finally gaining his feet. He drug his tube to deeper water on the side and flopping back into his tube. It objected by turning over and dumping him. He came up sputtering, both hands pushing his hair back, Dean laughing like a maniac.

“You like that? Yeah?” Stopping on the rocks, one foot inside his tube, Sam pushed his hair back and stretched languidly, making sure it lasted long enough to shut Dean up. With Dean’s eyes riveted to him, his chest and thighs, he smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

“Dirty cheater,” Dean muttered.

“You don’t want to give us up,” Sam told him, paddling back to grasp Dean’s other ankle. Dean swallowed and glanced away, then back.

“No, I don’t. but – I don’t want to stay like this, either.”

“We’ll find a way,” Sam promised.

“How?” Dean seemed morose. “We don’t have the resources, Sam.”  
“I’m going to talk to Bobby. Maybe if we tell him we’re trying to being you back he’ll help. If we can prove that you have your soul. There must be a way to prove that.”

“He’s not gonna got for it. He’s on board with the ‘what’s dead should stay dead’ movement.”

“It’s a movement now?” Sam let himself grin a little.

“Got a blog and everything,” Dean returned.

“Riiiight. Hey, we’re getting close. Should we get out and walk along the back a bit, see if we can find any clues?”

“Sure, Columbo.”

The banks were steep and slippery with red mud. By the time they got to the top they were both liberally smeared. Sam grimaced and swiped at it with his hands but only made the mess worse.

“We’ll be back in the water soon. You can rinse off then, princess.”

“Jerk,” Sam snapped.

“Bitch,” Dean returned with a smile.

There was a lot of underbrush and thorned vines that grabbed and snatched at them. Sam tried to count the number of times Dean said ow, but got distracted by his own scratches and snags.

“This sucks,” Dean grumped, trying to rip off another piece that seemed determined to stop him entirely. “Think something’s trying to keep us away?”

“Almost seems like it.”

They scraped and yanked and trudged their way through, the tubes and ice chest just making it awkward, until the brush and trees suddenly opened up into a small round clearing. It was barely ten feet across, but the grass was thick and green and the line of demarcation was clear.

“Oh that’s not obvious at all.”

“Shh,” Sam told him, holding up a finger. He set down the ice chest he’d been carrying down, very quietly.

“So, hey, I didn’t ask before –“ Dean ignored his warning, though he did speak more quietly. “- what do you think it is?”  
“Not a siren,” Sam said.

“They wouldn’t leave the victims alive.”

“I did some research while you were snoozing this morning. This area was established by Polish settlers and most of the families are still Polish.”

“Water spirit?” Dean caught on.

“One that doesn’t kill its’ victims as long as they please it.”

“Okay, so what do we do?” Dean leaned against a mossy trunk, arms crossed over his chest.

There was a deep river pool, the water almost still, visible just through the trees. Sam pulled out the cakes and fruit and flowers.

“You’re gonna be bait,” he answered.

 

Of course Dean didn’t object. Sam told him what he had to do, and he got started.

Walking to the center of the clearing, he knelt and arranged the offerings as attractively as he could. Standing again, he looked back at Sam, who made an encouraging gesture, but neither of them said anything, in case that was important.

With a deep sigh and a roll of his eyes, Dean began to dance. 

With simple movements he swayed and turned, his body appearing easy, languorous. There was a soft beat in his head but no music; not even birds in the trees. He felt slightly foolish, but whenever his eyes landed on Sam’s he felt a wash of heat, the way his brother’s eyes were glued to him.

He didn’t want the dance to be lewd or vulgar so he kept himself in check, but figured he’d have to dance for Sam one night, privately. They’d never done that. Sam didn’t dance out, out of deference to him, Dean didn’t anymore, when they went out. He got plenty of offers, but turned them all down and stayed beside his brother.

The clearing was shaded, with individual rays of sun breaking through the branches, like golden spotlights. 

A breeze began blowing, then there was the hint of sound. It got stronger and soon they could tell it was a woman’s voice. It got louder and Dean felt himself begin to turn faster, his feet moving without his consent, twirling faster and faster.

Sam melted back into the brush, trees and scrub, hiding him like their dad had taught them. 

She didn’t speak, but her song got stronger as Dean sun even faster; Sam would have been worried for his heart if it hadn’t been dead. How had those mundanes survived this?

Maybe it hadn’t been as bad for them? She might be able to sense what Dean was. Sam crouched, ready to play his part.

Then she was there, in the clearing. Small, slight, with long dark hair and eyes that practically glowed green. She seemed to be wearing white, flowing rags, tattered and worn.

It had become less than a dance and more like a frenzy.

Her arm was in front of Dean, suddenly, abruptly, stopping his movement. 

She didn’t speak. Instead there was a musical sound, like the notes of a harp, that fell into the now-quiet air. 

Dean seemed entranced. He leaned toward her, hands twitching at his sides, trying not to grab. She flitted around him, making those pretty noises.

The grass rippled and fat white mushrooms erupted, a fairy circle taking shape. 

She reached for his brother, and that was enough for Sam. He waited until her back was to him, then he jumped from his hiding place. Covering the few yards at a run, he tackled her to the ground and snatched a handful of hair from her head before she had a chance to fight back.

She shrieked, both of the men covering their ears. They pressed together, holding each other up, as the unearthly noise ripped the peaceful afternoon air.

Then she stopped. The silence rang in their ears and they lowered their hands carefully. Sam stuffed the hair into a pocket of his suit and butted it firmly closed.

“Hey,” he said to the spirit. “I name you Vila. I’m not sure how you got here or how long you’ve been here, but it’s time to go now.”

“Why do you interrupt my dance?” she asked, proving that she could talk, her voice as melodic as her song.

“Because it’s not a good dance, not for people,” Sam said.

“It is what I do.”  
“Not anymore,” Dean said. He wasn’t panting – no breathing required – but he did look dizzy and not happy about everything. “We’ve got your hair.”

“So you’ve got two choice,” Sam picked up. “You can return to your homeland or you can stay here, but either way I forbid you to call any more humans to you.”

“That is not the way it works.” She frowned at him.

“The world has changed,” Sam told her. “You’ve got to change with it.”

She looked sad.

“I do not want to.”

“Not up to you, sweetheart,” Dean said.

“Is there nothing I can do?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answered honestly. The Vila seemed more unhappy than angry with them. “We could burn your hair and see if the myths are true – see if it kills you.”

“That would be safer,” Dean frowned.

“But if you can’t hurt anything I don’t see a reason to.”

“I do not harm my dance partners,” she objected. “I only want to dance with them.”

“But dancing with you can hurt them.”

She hung her head.

“That is true. Some are not strong, like this one.” She waved a delicate hand at Dean.

“So it’s your choice,” Sam said. “I’m only giving you a chance because you haven’t hurt anyone that we know of.”

“It has been many centuries since anyone fell during the dance.”

“So you can stay here, or go home, and not lure anyone else to the dance, or we can burn your hair and see if that ends things.”

She didn’t seem a typical sort of monster; she didn’t seem to want to hurt anyone and she’d taken their interference with good grace. And now she was actually thinking about what San had said. If they could let Lenore and her band of not-so-merry vegetarian vampires live, then this water spirit deserved the same consideration – as long as she wasn’t hurting anyone.  
“If I do not dance, I will fade,” she whispered. They could barely hear her, even in the stillness.

“Is that what you want?”

Her eyes were so large, like an anime child’s, when she looked at them. Dean thought he saw tears.

“It is not what I desire. But better a fading life than no life at all. I have lived so many years I have lost count. I would not give it up so easily.”

“Then we are agreed?” Sam asked formally. “You will not entice any to dance and in return I will not burn the hair I have taken from you.”

They would keep the hair, locked safely in a curse box in case it could become dangerous, and use it if she ever tried again.

“We have an agreement,” she said, and then she crumpled to the grass, falling over their offerings, sobs rising from her shaking form. Dean felt the urge to comfort her, but it was Sam, of course, who was there, kneeling beside her, not quite touching, but whispering soothing things.

“You can dance for yourself, and dance where they can see you. They’ll still leave gifts of food and flowers, and your life will be good. There’s nothing to fear.”

She continued to cry. Sam looked at Dean helplessly. Dean shrugged, then nodded toward the river. Sam stood, slowly, and together they backed away; out of the fairy circle, out of the clearing. Into the woods.

They were quiet as they returned to the river. Dusk was falling, casting Dean’s face into handsome shadow. 

“Do you think she’ll keep her end of the bargain?”

Sam caught Dean’s ankle again. “According to the lore she has to. A vow made within her own circle, she can’t break it.”

“I almost feel like we’ve been mean somehow.”

“We could have been a lot worse.”

They floated a while longer. 

“How much further do you think we have to go?” Dean asked. It was getting cooler, which was actually pleasant in Texas heat. He felt relaxed, melted into the innertube, one with the river.  
“Two hours, maybe?”

“It’ll be dark by then,” Dean mused.

“Not like we’re afraid to be out.”

“We could see if it’s possible to have sex in these things.” Dean grinned brightly.

“Not on your life. If we lost a piece of you we’d never find it.”

“Hmph.”

There was another small waterfall, another set of rapids, where Sam didn’t get stuck this time. It was getting darker fast. 

“Not long now,” Sam sighed. “Thanks for doing this with me, Dean.”

“No problem, Sammy. It’s been kind of relaxing. But I had a thought.”

“Yeah?” Sam roused himself enough to look over at his brother, his eyes meeting a calm green gaze.

“What do you think about a spigot? We could stick it in my stomach, low enough that my clothes would hide it –“ he broke into laughter as Sam splashed him furiously.

* * * * * * * 

That night, in the birdy hotel room, Sam moved above Dean, both of them smiling and sighing, and they came together again. With a better understanding of who they were and what they were doing.


End file.
